


The Traveling Companions

by chofi



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Temporary Character Death, baby's first battle scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28166940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chofi/pseuds/chofi
Summary: All Cloud wanted to do was to go out into the world to make his fortune. The friends he meets along the way want to make sure he gets just a bit more than that. A retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Traveling Companion".
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: 2020 FF7 Secret Santa





	The Traveling Companions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Up_sideand_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Up_sideand_down/gifts).



> A massive thanks to Up_sideand_down for their assignment "Do you want to complete that thing you've been procrastinating on? Then this is your official excuse. Fill my request with that thing you wanted to write, but just didn't have the time for. I'd love to see it." I've been sitting on this thing since **2006**. (A version of it is actually on my Livejournal, but I couldn't get myself to finish it.)
> 
> Also, if you haven't read "The Traveling Companion" before, wait until you finish this, or else you'll be spoiled for the twist.

The wind was a low, constant howl. Raindrops were innumerable icy needles in Cloud’s hair, on his face, down his neck. Winter still had its grip upon the world. Cloud began to see the sense of his mother’s warning that the time had not yet been right to go out to seek his fortune.

The only shelter for miles around was a church set along the road. More of a ruin, really, than a church. It had a roof—most of one—and walls—pockmarked but strong enough to bear what was left of the roof without Cloud fearing a collapse.

He opened the heavy timber doors and their hinges screamed at being called into service after years of neglect. He closed the doors behind him, and again the doors complained, yet did their work. The howling wind and the cold-needle rain were banished away from the holy place.

Cloud and his mother didn’t follow this faith, yet the place inspired reverence in him. It was quiet, like the winds outside had been a bad dream, and it was dry. He walked down the center aisle, looking for a spot to sleep that wouldn’t be _too_ disrespectful.

In place of an altar was a spring, near soundlessly bubbling up to feed flowers. Flowers, yellow and white, were nodding along to some imperceptible breeze and unaware of the biting winds outside. On the far side of the flowers and their spring was a hulk of rusted metal. Cloud slipped off his pack and picked his way around the banks of the spring and through the flowers, taking care not to crush any. He made it to the rested thing and got a good look at it.

It was a sword. A behemoth of a thing that had to be as tall as Cloud himself. The rust and pitting told him that it had been a long time since its owner had left it here. The part of the blade that met the grip had some sort of pattern on it in a tarnished gold.

The tip of the behemoth sword bit into the earth; it should have been upright, and had probably been whenever it had been placed to guard the flowers and their spring.

Cloud took a breath and wrapped his hands around the sword’s grip. He began to lift it upright. The sword wasn’t only as tall as Cloud, it had to be as heavy as him, too! Living in the mountains, doing chores for his mother, and running errands for neighbors hadn’t made him strong enough to lift anything like this. Yet he didn’t dare drop the sword; it had to be set to rights.

His arms and back burned with the strain; he’d feel this in the morning, and the next besides.

Cloud didn’t know how long he toiled, but eventually the sword was upright and settled into the earth, like the spot had been made for it. The relief in his arms and shoulders made sight that much better. He’d been right; the sword _was_ as tall as he was. What sort of monster would be able to lift the thing, let alone _use_ it?

The mystery would have to wait until the morning. Cloud returned to his pack, removed his blanket—it was dry, mercifully—and wrapped himself up in it. He moved his pack away from the flowers and their spring and settled down to sleep, his pack serving for a pillow.

He dreamed, and what he dreamed was this: he was in a field full of the flowers in the church. The world was warm and bright, like midsummer. The flowers nodded along knowingly, like they had in the waking world. He was waiting for someone, but did not know for whom. But he waited, because it was _important_ to wait for—

The light of dawn shone on Cloud’s face. The storm of the night before had broken, and it was time for him to set off.

Or it would have been _,_ had the sunlight not revealed that weeds choked the flowers, threatening their place near the spring. This job would be easier than getting that sword upright, which his arms and back were happy for. Cloud squatted down and got to work.

It was like weeding his mother’s kitchen garden; he remembered some times where the weed would have a long, probing root that had to be found and pulled up completely. The weeds surrounding _these_ flowers, though, came away easily from the soft soil. The pile of discarded weeds grew effortlessly and soon enough the bed of flowers looked like someone tended to them regularly. With the sword in place in the midst of the clean flowerbed, the place looked more like a churchyard than the inside of a church.

Cloud filled his canteen in the spring, then washed his hands and face. Neither the dirt on his hands and under his nails nor the sweat from his face clouded the waters of the spring, though they were all cleaned. He took a drink from his canteen; the spring’s water was cool and sweet.

He gathered his things and shouldered his pack again, bracing himself for the complaint of his muscles. The pain he expected never came. He wondered at it, but still made his way to the door. The hinges made no complaints this time, nor did they when he closed them again once he was out the door.

He’d been walking down the road for a time when he heard a sharp, high whistle, like someone calling for a bird to start running. (Cloud and his mother weren’t rich enough to afford to stable and care for a chocobo, but he knew that whistle well enough; the other boys in the village would whistle at him so, because of his unruly yellow hair.) Cloud ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He continued walking. Footfalls further down the road matched his pace. “If you want me to stop,” Cloud said, voice even, “you should’ve used another call; you made the one to gee up.”

“Really?” A strong, friendly voice answered. “Never had the chance to do a lot of riding.” Cloud heard steps hurrying to catch up to him. “What can I do to get you to take a rest for a while?”

“Stop treating me like a bird and more like a human,” Cloud said. He pointedly kept his eyes forward.

“All right, all right.” The sound of a clearing throat. “Fellow human, would you do me the favor of stopping your travels for a while so that I may ask a favor of you?” The words were affected, but the tone was friendly, not mocking.

At this, Cloud did stop and turn to the speaker. He was taller and older than Cloud, and his black hair longer, but just as unruly. The handle of the sword at his back rose over his shoulders while its tip extended past his calf. The stranger had a fond look on his face, like he’d just met up with an old friend and not a perfect stranger.

The stranger broke out in a grin. “Thanks.”

Cloud fought to keep a wary tone in his voice. “So what did you want?”

The stranger kept smiling. “We’re going the same way, I think, and traveling can get lonely. Want to go along together?” He put a hand on his heart. “I promise I don’t bite.”

Old, old lessons about the dangers of the road and warnings on trusting strangers and other sorts of his mother’s injunctions echoed in Cloud’s mind, but something about the stranger’s smile and his manner made Cloud feel _safe_. And traveling with someone who knew how to fight would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Cloud nodded. “All right.”

The stranger’s smile grew even larger. “Great!” He held out his hand. “Zackary Fair, but just call me Zack.”

Cloud took the stranger’s—Zack’s—hand. “Cloud. Cloud Strife.” They shook.

“Pleased to made your acquaintance, Cloud,” Zack said. “We can start off whenever you’d like.”

Zack, Cloud learned, seemed to know a little about _everything_. (“I’ve been all over, thanks to my work.”) After Zack had caught him looking at his sword one too many times, he offered to teach Cloud how to use it. Lessons would begin whenever Cloud liked. Near noon, they stopped under a tree to rest. Or, rather, Cloud rested and looked after Zack’s sword while Zack foraged for things to eat. Cloud took sips from his canteen, still somewhat full of the spring water, and gazed out at the countryside.

The field was dotted here and there with the same yellow and white flowers from the church. They were wildflowers, then, and had found a friendly place to live in the church. The flowers nodded in their knowing way, but now there was an early spring breeze to explain it.

Zack returned to their tree carrying not their next meal, but a young woman. She was nestled against Zack’s chest like she’d like to be there for the rest of her life. Zack looked down at her like he didn’t mind much if she stayed nestled against his chest for the rest of her life. Cloud felt his face grow warm and thought of likely sorts of stories to excuse himself.

“We’ve got a guest,” Zack said unnecessarily. “She says I scared her and that she twisted her ankle, but I think she’s made up the whole thing in her diabolical, adorable mind.” The young woman giggled. Zack set her down under the tree next to Cloud and then sat down himself.

The young woman smiled at him. “I’m Aerith,” she said. “Don’t worry about food; I’ll take care of it.” She produced a small basket and pulled out brown bread rolls, one apiece for each of them. They were soft and warm, like they’d been taken from the oven only moments ago. Once Aerith had finished hers, she pulled out more bread from her basket. She offered them roll after roll to eat until they were all sated. Even Zack, who Cloud was very sure ate about twice as much as he and Aerith combined.

After their meal, Zack stretched and rose to take up his sword again. “Aerith shared her food with us, so we’ve got to repay her by taking her home.”

“It’s really not that far from here,” Aerith said, placing her basket on her arm. “And I don’t think Zack will be troubled much.”

“No, no trouble at all,” Zack said. Cloud’s face grew warm again and he really wished he could take his leave. He was very sure Zack wouldn’t let him go, though, so he stayed. Aerith leapt up into Zack’s arms without the slightest wince of pain, and they set off.

Aerith’s house was a small cottage on the banks of a pond. They passed an orderly kitchen garden and a small well to reach the front door. Aerith bounded down from Zack’s arms to open the door.

The house was tidy and sunlight streamed in wherever it could. Flowers of all sorts—the yellow and white wildflowers included—were in pots and jars on every available surface.

Aerith had them sit down at the table while she began pulling things from cupboards and boxes. She hummed a song Cloud remembered hearing his mother sing.

Zack had been looking at Aerith with a dreamy expression on his face since he’d first introduced her to Cloud. Aerith, whenever she could, looked back with a similar expression. Cloud took a breath and got up from the table, muttering something about needing air. Zack made a noise of acknowledgment and continued watching Aerith.

Cloud took the chance to wander the grounds surrounding the house. There were kitchen herbs, vegetables, and plants that Cloud remembered his mother using for healing, all mature and ready for harvest months ahead of their time. The sun was warm on his back, making it feel more like May than March.

At the edges of the garden, right before they gave way to wild fields, were beds of the yellow and white flowers, marking a boundary between the gardens and the fields. The flowers nodded in the breeze in welcome. This was like his dream the night before, almost. He was in a field of the flowers, with the world warm and bright, waiting for—

Two hands gave him gentle squeezes, one on each of his shoulders. Cloud started and turned. Zack and Aerith were in the flower bed with him, the three of them taking care not to step on any of the plants. “It’s getting late,” Zack said, and Cloud realized that the light around them was the soft, tired gold of sunset.

He let them lead him back to the house.

The following morning, Aerith was waiting for them with a staff in her right hand and the basket she’d used the day before on her left arm. She and Zack took it for granted that she’d be coming along. She was, at least, on her own two feet. They waited for her while she bolted the door, then filled a flask with water from the small well. This done, they set off.

They broke their fast on the road, relying on more of the bread that came from Aerith’s basket and the water from Aerith’s well. Her flask, like her basket, never seemed to empty no matter how much they took from it.

Cloud decided to take up Zack’s offer for sword fighting lessons. The lesson was about to begin when a chorus of howls tore through the air. A cold knot formed in Cloud’s gut.

A pack of beasts like wolves crossed with serpents emerged from the brush, circling them. Zack and Aerith swiftly flanked Cloud, facing out towards the circling pack, respective weapons at the ready. Cloud wondered when the two had crossed paths before; a motion like that could only come from time spent fighting together.

“Finally,” Zack said. “A chance for some exercise.”

“Just don’t try to stretch yourself too thin,” Aerith replied. Her staff began to glow with a soft rose light. “You know I can help out.”

A shower of sparks hit the first beast that had lunged towards them. It whined in pain while one of its fellows tried from another angle. Zack darted forward and swiftly cut off the beast’s head. More of the beasts moved in to attack from all sides.

It was a rout. Zack made quick work of the pack of beasts with his sword while sparks from Aerith’s staff kept them protected. The beasts’ bodies formed a neat circle around them. Cloud hoped that one day he’d have even a tenth of the skill that Zack had shown.

Zack took a deep breath, then turned to Cloud with a smile. “At least you know you’ve got a teacher who knows a few things.”

They continued until evening, stopping at an inn. There was a small crowd gathered in the inn’s large common room. A puppet stage had been set up, and the crowd was waiting for the play. Having nothing else to do, Zack, Cloud, and Aerith stayed to watch as well.

The play was something about a king of cats reviewing his troops (who were human-looking toy soldiers) before a battle. This seemed to mean that the cat-king strode importantly to the left and right of the puppet stage, making sure his crown and cape were shown off to best effect while the toy soldiers did drills with their rifles.

The cat-king was about to address his army when one of the toy cannons fired prematurely and hit the cat, whose arm snapped off, fell from the stage, and rolled away under a table. The showman looked miserable; the cat-king had been the oldest and most precious of his dolls. When the rest of the crowd had drifted away, Aerith approached the showman and offered her help. Cloud, like the showman, had no idea how she’d be able to help; she hadn’t mentioned any skills in making or repairing puppets.

Zack found the cat’s fallen arm and Aerith set down the cat-king on her lap. She loosened the ribbon in her hair and tore off a thin strip. She received the cat’s arm from Zack and tied the scrap of her ribbon into a small bow around the cat’s arm, then affixed the arm back onto its shoulder. She patted its shoulder and then its head. “You should be all right now.”

The cat-king blinked, then moved his arms about. He flexed his fingers and then stretched. He hopped off of Aerith’s lap. “I’m as good as new,” the cat-king said. He bowed to Aerith. “Thank you.”

The showman looked to be near tears over the cat-king being made whole again, and like a living, breathing creature at that. He, too, bowed to Aerith. “The money I’ve made tonight, whatever you want of mine; it’s yours.”

Aerith shook her head. “We won’t need money, but would you have anything you don’t have much need of?”

“What about that old sword?” said the cat-king, addressing the showman. “You’ve no need of it.”

The showman nodded. “Come back in the morning,” he said to Aerith, “and I’ll have it ready for you.”

Aerith shook hands with the showman and patted the cat-king’s head again.

The next morning, the showman and his cat-king puppet waited for them in the great room. Resting on a table was the old sword the cat-king had spoken of the night before.

Aerith looked expectantly at Cloud. “Well, aren’t you going to take it?”

Cloud paused. The sword was slimmer and shorter than Zack’s, but it was still much larger than any sword had a right to be. Cloud grabbed the sword’s handle and lifted it from the table. He marveled at how light it felt.

Zack nodded in approval. “Looks like we can actually start training, then.”

Cloud had to get used to the additional weight of a sword on his back. He kept his complaints to himself, but he was still aware that they stopped to rest more often than they had before.

They continued through the wilderness; Aerith’s basket provided food and water, while Zack’s mere presence seemed to keep anything dangerous from coming close to them (not that it saved Cloud from practice). The weight of the iron sword became something familiar and almost welcome to Cloud.

They were making their way through a forest when a low moan interrupted their conversation. Zack and Aerith hurried towards the sound, with Cloud close behind. It was a chocobo, but one like Cloud had never seen before. Most birds he’d seen were a dull yellow, with a few rare examples having a tinge of green. This chocobo, however, had feathers that were a deep gold, almost like the sun at dawn. They’d arrived in time to see the bird close its eyes and breathe its last.

“Can’t you help it?” Cloud asked Aerith, recalling the cat-king.

Aerith shook her head and stroked the bird’s head. “She’s already gone, and bringing souls back demands a great amount of power.”

Zack took an appraising look at the bird. “It could still prove useful, though.” He squatted down near the bird and pulled at its wings. He took out a hunting knife and made quick work of removing the golden wings from the bird. Aerith wrapped the wings in a cloth and somehow made the bundle fit inside of her basket. They spent most of the day digging a grave for the bird. “It’s only right,” Zack said, and Cloud agreed with him.

After more days of traveling, a city appeared on the horizon, one whose dozens of towers shone in the sun. It looked seven times seven times larger than Cloud’s village. It probably held seven times seven times seven the number of people.

“I don’t know if anyone would like if we just went in covered in the dust of the road,” Aerith said.

Zack snorted. “So we’ve got to wash up and look respectable?”

Aerith nodded.

They found an inn on the outskirts of the city. A young girl was without, sketching something in charcoal near the inn’s doorway. She stopped once they approached, and dropped a half-curtsy. “Would you need a room? A good, hot meal? My mother’s returned from hunting, and we’ve got--”

“We’re fine for now, thank you.” Cloud said. He looked at what the girl had been sketching: a garland of flowers, the same wildflowers that grew in that old church and in Aerith’s garden.

“We’re strangers around here,” Aerith said. “Could you tell us about this place?”

The girl nodded. “The city’s ruled by Lady Crescent. She’s very intelligent and doesn’t like hurting anyone.” She returned to her sketching. The flowers climbed up the door as high as the girl could reach. “Her son and heir’s Sephiroth. He...” The girl trailed off and stopped drawing again.

“What’s wrong with him?” Zack asked.

“He’s a sorcerer,” the girl said. “An evil one. He’s learned all of his dark magic from an evil witch and he’s been the reason why so many have died.”

“What has he done?” Aerith asked.

“He’s offered his sword to the highest bidders, with no regard of what the purpose would be. He’s offered his hand in marriage to anyone who’d wish it, but he asks them to complete challenges to his satisfaction. No one knows what they are, but should someone succeed three times, he’ll marry them. If they should fail at any challenge, then their lives are forfeit.”

“Some spoiled rich boy isn’t getting what he wants, so he _kills people_?” Cloud said, incredulous. “Why won’t anyone stop—”

A fanfare sounded and the road became crowded with people who emerged from the buildings along the road. Cheering rose up as a procession made its way towards the center of the city. House guards in light armor and on yellow birds rode on the left and right edges of the road. In the center, on a coal-black bird, was Sephiroth. He was dressed completely in black, drawing the eye to a pale, well-formed face and long silver hair.

He was the most beautiful person Cloud had ever seen.

The more Cloud stared, the warmer he got, the stronger his heart beat, the lighter his gut felt. He’d do anything, _anything_ , to be near that beauty always. He took a step in the direction Sephiroth had ridden.

He felt two hands, one on each shoulder. Things snapped into a sudden clarity. (When had they become indistinct?) Cloud turned around and looked at Zack and Aerith, who were playing at being on the verge of tears.

“Our boy,” Zack said, wiping away a mock tear, “is becoming a man grown.”

Aerith took a handkerchief from her basket and wiped away mock tears as well. “They grow up so fast! So fast!”

Cloud crossed his arms and fought not to pout.

Zack, too, crossed his arms. “I seriously hope you weren’t thinking of following him and asking him to marry you.”

Cloud looked away. His face still felt hot. He said nothing.

“It’ll be some time before you’re ready to marry into a noble family, I think,” said Aerith.

Zack took a look around at what he could see of the city. “Even if you weren’t husband-hunting, this would be a good place to stay. It’s big enough for you to find lots of jobs.”

“Someone could make a life here,” Aerith said, “with some work.”

Cloud had gone out into the world to find his fortune; perhaps it might be in this city. If things went well, he could be able to bring his mother here to live.

“I’ve got no other place to go,” Zack said, “so I’ll stick around until you’re on your feet.”

Aerith smiled at Zack. “If you’re going to stay, then I’ll stay, too.”

Zack consulted the girl outside of the inn. “Anyplace around here where someone could set up a household for a time for not too much money?”

The girl pointed in one direction. “There’s the last house down that lane. Two hunters used to live there, years and years ago. No one’ll go near the place now; the hunters’ spirits haunt it.”

“Then we’ll just have to ask them for permission,” Aerith said.

No houses faced the narrow lane, which ended in a small courtyard with a well at its center. The hunters’ house did indeed look like it had last been lived in years and years ago: the well had run dry, dust caked the shutters, cobwebs hung from the lintel, the metal bindings of the door were red with rust.

Aerith knocked at the door. “Hello?” she called out. “Can we come in?” She waited for a polite period of time, then tried the door. It opened smoothly. “Would you mind if we looked after the place for a while?” She stepped inside with Zack immediately behind. “We’ll be the best tenants you’ve ever had.”

Cloud, still outside, wasn’t sure what he wanted more: an answer in the affirmative or no answer at all. He could still hear Aerith’s voice from within, though what she was saying was indistinct.

Aerith reappeared at the doorway with her flask of water and nodded at Cloud. “We’re welcome to stay.”

Cloud peered inside. “How do you know?”

“We haven’t been told to get out.” Aerith poured the contents of her flask into the well. The well immediately bubbled up with water, ready to draw.

She allowed no time for Cloud to wonder at it, taking him by the hand and pulling him inside.

* * *

The sun was hot on Cloud’s back. Sweat trailed down his face, his neck, his back; the heat of summer, according to Zack, was no excuse to slack off on training, and so Cloud trained. Learning the strength in his arms and back and taking heed of their limits, repeating motions and patterns over and over again until he could do them in his sleep, sparring with Zack and sometimes Aerith and Zack, who both had things to say about what he did well and what he could improve.

When they weren’t training, they worked; Cloud had long gotten used to being referred to as “the new hunters’ ‘prentice” by most of the city. Traders to and from the city were happy enough to hire a group to keep the monsters at bay, and jobs were plentiful.

Throughout the hunting, the training, and the cleaning out of the old house, Cloud held on to the memory of his first day in the city and his first sight of Sephiroth. Anyone could press their suit; Cloud simply had to prepare himself.

It was after one of the rare times that Cloud actually won a sparring session against Zack that he announced he was ready.

Zack let out a sigh. “I don’t think you should do this yet. Or at all.”

“No,” Cloud said. “I’m ready.” The yellow and white wildflowers that had found a home in their courtyard nodded along with his words. He went inside, washed and dressed in his best clothes, and set out for Lady Crescent’s manor in the center of the city.

Cloud stopped at the gate and stated his business. The guards looked at each other, shook their heads sadly, but still let him inside.

He was directed to the door at the end of a short, sunlit hallway: Lady Crescent’s study. He took a breath and knocked at the door. A soft voice bade him come inside.

The lady was at her desk, writing something. She looked up and smiled warmly at him. She reminded Cloud, oddly, of his own mother.

Cloud cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk about… Sephiroth’s—about your son’s offer of marriage… my lady.”

She looked away, crestfallen. “Ah, so you’re another suitor.”

Cloud nodded.

“And you know my son’s terms?”

Cloud nodded again.

The lady took a breath to compose herself, then stood up. “Walk with me.” She guided him down a set of stairs, and down a darkened hall. At the end of the hall was a solitary door. Lady Crescent opened the door and motioned for Cloud to look inside.

It was another study, but one unlike Lady Crescent’s. Papers were scattered about the room. Human and animal skulls peered out at them from otherwise empty shelves and from atop piles of books and a writing table. On every surface were complicated patterns of overlapping circles and lines, skillfully wrought in a dull red-brown. They weren’t in ink; Cloud wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they had been written in.

Lady Crescent closed the study’s door. “He calls the skulls his trophies; he won’t tell me what he studies nor the use of the sigils he drew.” She looked steadily at Cloud. “I am sure you know where the human ones came from.”

Cloud nodded.

They were returning to Lady Crescent’s study when Sephiroth found them. There was warmth low in Cloud’s stomach at being so close to one so beautiful. “Your offer has been accepted once again,” Lady Crescent said in a light, even tone. “I was giving your suitor a brief tour of the house.”

Sephiroth arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Cloud drew himself up to his full height, such as it was, stepped forward and looked into Sephiroth’s eyes. They were a striking mix of blue and green. “You said anyone could try.” He held out his hand. “My name is Cloud Strife.”

Sephiroth smiled down at him, like a cat toying with a mouse. He took Cloud’s hand. “I did, indeed, say anyone could try. I shall, of course, keep my word.” He closed his other hand around Cloud’s. “Your first trial is tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Cloud let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I won’t be.”

Sephiroth let go of Cloud’s hand. “Until tomorrow, then,” Sephiroth said. He bowed flawlessly, turned, and left them.

Cloud felt the warmth of Sephiroth’s gloved hands around his own through his goodbyes to Lady Crescent, his walk back to Zack and Aerith, and his recounting of events.

“Tomorrow?” Zack said. “You’re going to start these challenges tomorrow?”

“Those were his terms,” Cloud said.

Zack took a deep breath. “Then it’s your last night alive. There’s only one thing to do: get absolutely shitfaced.”

They went to the inn they’d found in their first day, now a common haunt for them. Zack and Aerith held up their glasses. “To Sephiroth’s health, I guess,” Zack said.

“And to Cloud’s health,” Aerith said. She and Zack finished their drinks at the same dizzying pace; Cloud could barely keep up. Zack kept on toasting to his and Sephiroth’s health and Aerith matched him glass for glass. Eventually, Cloud could take no more and put his head on the table, pillowed on his arms. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Hunters had to be good at stalking all things dangerous. A sorcerer-general was something new, but Zack found that the rules were the same: keep his distance, don’t lose sight of the target, stay as silent as possible.

Zack kept himself in the darker corners of the cavern, holding onto the charm Aerith had given him. Its strength wasn’t what it could have been once, but it was enough to keep him concealed. He hardly dared to breathe as Sephiroth passed right in front of him and stopped to kneel before his godmother’s throne.

The sorceress Jenova, like Sephiroth, was a tall, pale beauty with long silver hair. She looked more like his mother than the Lady Crescent did.

The sorceress rose from her throne to place a kiss on Sephiroth’s forehead. “Dear godson.” Her voice was low and fond, and oddly reminded Zack of his own mother’s. “You look unwell,” she continued. “Is it the miasma?”

Zack risked a better look. There were dark circles beneath Sephiroth’s eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well for a long time. “It gets stronger by the day,” Sephiroth said.

The sorceress pressed another kiss to his forehead and with her magic summoned a table set with a fine meal. Everything that was meant to be eaten, from the great cuts of meat to the tiniest bread crumb, was ink-black. They toasted each other with ink-black wine. Zack fought not to throw up.

During the meal, Sephiroth informed the sorceress of his new suitor.

“What color are his eyes?” she asked.

“Blue,” replied Sephiroth automatically.

“And he’s young?”

“Younger than I am.”

The sorceress smiled. It was lovely, but it made Zack shudder. “Once you kill him, be sure to bring his head to me. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten a youth’s blue eyes, and now I crave them.” She took a drink of wine. “And what of his station?”

“Common,” Sephiroth said. Zack wanted so very much to start attacking on Cloud’s behalf for the disgust Sephiroth managed to put into that one word. He worried at Aerith’s charm, counted his breaths, and continued to watch.

“Start by trying his cleverness,” the sorceress said. “A common youth is certainly ignorant of the ways of the world.”

“A problem of logic will serve,” Sephiroth said. He took a bite of the ink-black meat. “He’ll either be run through or burned.” He made a small bow at the sorceress. “His head, of course, will be spared.”

They finished their meal, and Sephiroth bowed to take his leave, promising again not to forget the head.

Zack slipped out behind Sephiroth, and made his way back home. He needed to consult with Aerith.

* * *

Sephiroth awoke unwell and cursed the miasma. A meal with his godmother was normally enough to cure him of any malady, but these were proving ineffective of late.

He forced himself to break his fast, then dressed for the meeting with his would-be suitor.

The suitor—the blond boy from the day before—waited in the great hall with his mother. The sour-sweet stink of the miasma awaited him as well. It emanated from the young blond before him; it must have entered with him, somehow.

Sephiroth took a breath to tamp down the gorge rising in his throat, and began. “If you truly wish to better your station through our marriage, you must prove your eloquence.” He summoned his sword, then made a ball of flame in his free hand. He set the tip of his sword at the blond’s chin, then trailed it down to rest over his heart. The blond stayed admirably calm. “If you make a statement that is false, I will run you through with my sword. If you make a statement that is true, I will burn you. Silence will be treated as deception. Now, speak.”

The boy paused for a moment, then said, “You will run me through with your sword.”

Something in Sephiroth’s heart pressed tightly. He felt oddly light. He dispelled the flame and banished his sword. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother sigh in relief.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked down at the boy. “I shall see you tomorrow morning for your second trial. Do not be late.”

The boy smiled and bowed, but made no other response.

* * *

Aerith and Zack listened to Cloud recount his trial. “So he asked you a riddle?” Aerith said. She leaned forward as if learning some interesting piece of gossip.

Cloud nodded. “It was… weird.”

“You’re still alive,” Zack said. “ _That’s_ the part that’s weird.”

Cloud tossed a piece of bread at Zack. “Thanks for your confidence.”

Zack caught the piece in his mouth. “I’m being _realistic_ ,” Zack said, mouth still full of bread. He chewed and swallowed.

Cloud worried at another piece of bread. “How I got the answer though, was the weirdest part.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense!” Aerith said.

Cloud looked evenly at Zack and Aerith. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

Zack shrugged. “No more than usual.”

Aerith gave Zack a punch on the arm on Cloud’s behalf.

Cloud took a breath. “I heard voices tell me what to say while I was walking to the mansion.” They had sounded quite sure of themselves. _You will be run through_ , he’d heard. Over and over, _You will be run through_. It was only once Sephiroth posed his question that Cloud realized that it was _supposed to help him,_ not be an early sentencing.

Aerith gave him a slight smile. “I guess someone’s looking out for you then. The world works in mysterious ways.”

“So, when’s the next time you have to go?” Zack asked.

“Tomorrow.”

Zack and Aerith exchanged looks.

Cloud scoffed. “So, what, are you planning to get me drunk again?” That he’d woken up that morning with a clear head was nothing short of a miracle.

Aerith smiled. “No, this time it’ll be a nice, relaxing dinner at home. And no alcohol, I promise.”

* * *

She hadn’t promised there wouldn’t be a few extra ingredients. It would be kinder to everyone than having to drink so much. Aerith didn’t think she’d be able to drink to Cloud’s health night after night, not even if those wishes for health and long life were guaranteed to come true. Besides, it was much easier to track Sephiroth’s movements with a clear head.

She fiddled with the strip of her ribbon she’d tied around her wrist. The place where the sorceress had established herself was a holy place that had been profaned. Aerith wished she’d brought her staff and Zack his sword. Maybe, with the element of surprise…

Zack placed his hand on her wrist and shook his head. He was right, of course; they didn’t stand a chance as they were. It was only thanks to her ribbon that they could do _this_ much. She and Zack watched as Sephiroth knelt before the sorceress, who kissed his forehead in greeting as she had the night before.

“You still look unwell,” the sorceress said. Her voice sounded harsh and discordant, like an actor trying to sound like a fine lady but having little idea of how to do it.

“The miasma grows stronger,” Sephiroth replied. “It seems to be everywhere.”

“And where is the head?” the sorceress asked. Aerith’s blood ran cold at the thought of that creature anywhere near Cloud.

“Still attached to my suitor,” Sephiroth said. “I shall bring it tomorrow night.”

His answer was apparently acceptable, for the sorceress summoned a table laden with inky black food and drink as she had the night before. She and Sephiroth sat down to sup. The sight turned Aerith’s stomach; Zack looked little better.

“Even if he proved cleverer than we’d thought,” the sorceress said, “no one alive is your match with a sword. Ask him to duel you.”

“If I use my sword, I cannot guarantee his head being intact tomorrow night, godmother,” Sephiroth said.

“His eyes are what interest me,” the sorceress replied. “Make sure they stay whole, at least.”

Aerith and Zack waited patiently and soundlessly for the meal to finish and for Sephiroth to take his leave, once again promising to bring Cloud’s head. They followed as close as they dared and returned home to snatch whatever sleep they could.

Aerith and Zack woke up as they normally would. They breakfasted with Cloud and made no mention of the trial. As Cloud got up to leave, Aerith stopped him. She stood on tiptoe and kissed Cloud’s forehead. “For luck,” she said.

* * *

Sephiroth again awoke unwell, and this time worse than the morning before. He had survived worse, had gone about his daily tasks while worse. A simple miasma would not be the end of him. He forced himself to break his fast, though it proved more difficult than the day before. He managed a respectable amount and prepared for the coming trial.

In the great hall, the boy was looking at the weapons Sephiroth had asked to be waiting for them. Like the day before, his mother kept her distance. Like the day before, the stink of the miasma radiated from the boy.

“If you truly wish to better your station through our marriage,” Sephiroth began, “you must prove your martial prowess.” He summoned his sword. “Choose a weapon and fight me.”

The boy swallowed nervously. “To the death?”

“Only to first blood,” Sephiroth answered. He was feeling benevolent. “If I manage to strike you first, I’ll simply kill you here and now.”

The boy chose a large, rather unwieldy sword and lifted it with ease. Sephiroth raised his own sword in a defensive stance and waited for the boy to attack.

Sephiroth deflected the boy’s first strike, then the next, then the next. He wasn’t entirely untrained. Sephiroth moved in to attack. The boy scrambled to defend, and did so just in time.

This had to end soon. Every time he neared the boy, the bile rose in his throat, and his head swam. He made to strike the boy’s neck; he might as well collect the head right away.

The scream of metal scraping against metal. A sting at his right shoulder. Sephiroth felt more frustration than pain; his godmother would not be pleased with him. He took a breath and healed the cut with his magic. “Your final trial is tomorrow. Do not be late.”

The boy nodded as he had the day before. “I won’t be late,” he said, barely above a whisper.

* * *

Cloud was waiting for Zack and Aerith when they tried to sneak out that night. “Where are you going?”

“For an evening stroll?” Zack said.

Cloud frowned. They were dressed for travel, and had their weapons with them.

Zack and Aerith looked at each other and nodded. “Better now than never, I guess,” Zack said.

Aerith struck him lightly with the back of her hand. “Don’t be such a pessimist.” She collected her basket, placed their weapons within it, and they set off.

They moved through the quiet city streets, taking position in a spot that allowed them a view of Lady Crescent’s manor while affording them concealment.

Soon enough, a dark figure flew off from a window in the mansion: Sephiroth, on large black wings. Cloud’s jaw dropped. A part of him still managed to admire how beautiful Sephiroth looked with wings. “Where is he going?”

“We’re going to take you there,” Zack said.

Aerith set down her basket and took out the golden wings. Despite the months between the time Zack had collected them and now, there was no sign of decay. Zack put on one golden wing, and Aerith put on the other. The wings flexed and fluttered as if they had always been a part of Zack and Aerith.

Aerith took out a strip of frayed pink ribbon and tied it to Cloud’s arm. She picked up her basket and took Cloud’s hand in hers. Zack took Cloud’s other hand.

Their wings flapped once, lifting them off the ground, and then again to raise them higher. Cloud knew, without anyone saying anything, that Zack’s and Aerith’s grips would hold, that he had nothing to fear.

They flew off in pursuit.

They reached a mountain chain to the north of the city, and saw Sephiroth alight on a cliff face that held an opening into the mountain. His black wings dissolved into a black mist, and he entered the mountain.

They entered after him. Zack and Aerith took off their wings and stored them, giving Cloud a moment to observe his surroundings. The cavern was beautiful; walls made of crystal glowed with blue and green light, long crystal columns jutted from the floor and ceiling and gave off the same light as the walls.

There was a throne made of the same blue-green crystal, canopied by what seemed like blood-red vines joined in intricate patterns. On the throne was a beautiful woman with long silver hair who had to be the witch Sephiroth had learned his magic from.

Zack and Aerith pulled Cloud behind a thick column of opaque crystal. Sephiroth passed right by them, close enough to reach out and touch, but he took no notice of the three. He looked weary and paler than usual.

Despite his fatigue, Sephiroth gracefully knelt in front of the throne and waited for the sorceress to address him.

“Godson,” said the sorceress, “where is the head?” Her voice was low and stern. Cloud was reminded of times his mother had been upset at him for one reason or another.

“Still attached to my suitor,” Sephiroth said. Cloud’s stomach dropped. “I won’t fail you again.”

“See that you don’t,” said the sorceress. “You know what awaits you if a suitor wins your hand.”

“I will get his head for you, godmother.”

The sorceress rose from her throne, pressed a kiss to Sephiroth’s forehead, and summoned her table laden with ink-black food and ink-black drink. They had their meal in silence.

Sephiroth rose to take his leave, but was stopped by the sorceress. She gestured at him to come to her side, and murmured into his ear. Despite the distance, Cloud managed to hear what she said:

“Ask him for my head.”

Sephiroth bowed to the sorceress. His black wings unfurled from his back, and he left.

Cloud began to move in the direction that Sephiroth had gone. Zack and Aerith gripped Cloud’s hands; the impulse to follow Sephiroth died away.

The sorceress had dismissed her table and was about to return to her throne when Aerith got in her first shot. A blast of green light Cloud had never seen Aerith use before struck the sorceress.

“You waited until my dearest weapon was not at hand to defend me,” the sorceress said, her voice steady, “but I am more than able to take care of pests such as you.”

The pale, silver-haired beauty disappeared, and in her place was a monster. Cloud could pick out parts that were like those of various beasts that he’d fought with Zack and Aerith, but the whole was something new entirely.

The vines around the throne grew thicker and began to pulse. The ground cracked open, and worm-like things writhed wildly out from them. The things from the fissures whipped at them, the monster turned to strike at them with its tail, mouths snarled and tried to bite at them, and all throughout, the sorceress’s voice rang out in their hearts:

_All who defy me I grind into dust._

_It’s been so long, so long, since I’ve feasted on such lovely things._

_Time and time again, I’ve been attacked and emerged triumphant._

Zack and Cloud cut down the writhing things from the fissures whenever they came too close. Aerith summoned flames to keep the tail and mouths back.

“The head,” Aerith said. She produced a barrier from rings of light. “We have to get at the head.”

“You do the honors, Cloud,” Zack said. “You’re the one that’s doing the courting.”

Cloud took a breath, then nodded. “Ready.”

Aerith wreathed the extremities of the thing in flames. Zack rushed forward and drove his sword home into something that looked like a heart. The monster screamed.

Cloud advanced and sliced at the skull that sat atop the mass of the thing. There was a long, shrill howl.

The things from the fissures dropped to the ground. The vines around the throne withered and rotted away. The monster’s enormous body collapsed and became a headless, human-like body with blue skin. The skull became a woman’s head with blue skin and silver hair.

Cloud was engulfed by Aerith and Zack’s embrace. They laughed and sobbed their relief in turns. Just as Cloud was ready to fall asleep standing up, Aerith and Zack pulled away.

Zack slapped Cloud’s back. “Go and get your betrothal gift.”

Cloud walked over to the head, took a breath, and picked it up. A thick, black _something_ dripped down from where the head had been severed. He kept it as far away from him as possible while returning to Aerith and Zack.

Aerith poured a flask of water where the head had been severed. The black stuff stopped dripping. Zack then wrapped the head in a cloth and handed it back to Cloud. “Make sure you hold on tight to that,” he said.

Their weapons returned to Aerith’s basket, and the golden wings were unfurled again. Zack and Aerith linked their arms around Cloud’s this time, as he was holding the bundle with the sorceress’s head. They made it back home just as dawn was beginning to light the eastern sky.

* * *

Sephiroth retched and vomited. What came from him was black and viscous. He washed, dressed, and went to the great hall.

The boy was there waiting as he had the two previous mornings, but this time he had brought two guests. He carried a wrapped bundle in one hand and a yellow wildflower in the other. The odor of miasma came off of it in near visible waves.

The boy offered him the wildflower. “A friend of mine once said that—” his face turned red “—that lovers used them as tokens of reunion.”

Sephiroth glared at the flower. He took it from the boy’s hand and burned it. The sickly-sweet miasma remained through the scent of burnt things. It was time to end this.

“If you truly wish to better your station through our marriage, you must prove your courage,” Sephiroth said. “In the mountains to the north of here there is a sorceress who has been a plague upon this land for decades.” It felt like a vise was around his head, tightening every second that the boy was in the room with him. “I demand her head.”

The boy took a breath and set down his bundle. He knelt down to untie it.

It was his godmother’s head.

The room spun and grew dark. A high-pitched whine filled his ears.

Distantly came the sound of the door opening, the blurred figure of his mother racing into the hall. A chorus of muffled voices followed. The floor rose to meet him. He was at a height with his godmother’s head, now. She looked so disappointed.

He felt raindrops on his skin, like burning needles, then he felt nothing.

* * *

Zack and Aerith insisted that Sephiroth recover in his study. The skulls were removed and buried, the books and papers placed on the shelves. The sigils along the various surfaces of the study began to glow with a soft green light. A pallet was set up, and Sephiroth placed into it; he had remained asleep throughout all of it.

Cloud realized how much Sephiroth, when his face was relaxed in sleep, resembled Lady Crescent.

They took turns watching Sephiroth for any signs of his awakening. Cloud had, by agreement, been the one besides the Lady Crescent to stay at Sephiroth’s bedside the longest. It was during this vigil that Lady Crescent admitted her part in the matter: she’d been the one to ask Jenova to be godmother to Sephiroth, to place her blessings upon him; the sorceress ensured the child would grow with wit, beauty, strength, and grace, but asked a great price for it. Sephiroth became a weapon for Jenova to wield against whomever she wished.

They were all there when Sephiroth woke up. He focused on Lady Crescent first. “Mother?” he murmured. “Why are you here? I’m _ill_ , but not a—” He looked at his surroundings, fixating on the glowing sigils. “How were they made to work?”

“Your betrothed,” Zack stage-whispered to Cloud, “is going to want to study _everything_.”

Cloud felt himself grow warm. “He _isn’t…_ That offer was made…”

“It was made when I had no expectation of it ever being honored,” Sephiroth said. “If you wish for me to honor it, I have no objection.” His face colored, slightly. He cleared his throat. “I’ve done many things that I’m no longer proud of, and it will take a lifetime to make recompense for them all.”

“I’ll help,” Cloud said softly. He looked at Zack and Aerith. “I… we… can rely on you, too, right?”

Zack and Aerith smiled. “Remember when I said you were becoming a man grown?” Zack said.

“Then your time here is at an end,” Sephiroth said.

Aerith nodded. She turned to Cloud. “Your betrothed is clever; you could probably learn a bit from him.”

“We’d been restless and regretful for a long time,” Zack said. He looked at Cloud warmly, like he had the first time he’d seen him, months ago. “You cleaned up an old flowerbed and propped up an old sword inside of an old church. That was enough to get us to focus on one last thing we needed to do.”

“And the drive to accomplish your task was strong enough to cross the boundaries between life and death,” Sephiroth said.

“You’re why that sword and those flowers were in that church,” Cloud said. “It was your grave.”

Zack and Aerith nodded, and vanished.

* * *

The air was warm and sweet. White and yellow petals fell as thick as a snowstorm, landing in Cloud’s hair, down his neck, and under his clothes. The grounds around the old church were carpeted in white and yellow wildflowers. “We should stop for a rest,” Sephiroth said. “And inform them of my progress.”

“I think they’d like that,” Cloud replied.

**Author's Note:**

> First things first, ["The Traveling Companion"](https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheTravelingCompanion_e.html) and [another translation](http://hca.gilead.org.il/travelng.html).
> 
> Most of the main elements of the original story fit so well into FF7 and Sefikura terms (a should-be-dead guy helping out his blond bro to score with a powerful person who's got black wings, oh and there are plot-important churches and heads and healing waters involved) that this idea's been living rent-free in my mind in one way or another for a while.
> 
> I'd like to extend my thanks to **epl97** for the beta work and for reminding me that the meanings of words changing over the centuries goes both ways.
> 
> I'm chofitia on [twitter](https://twitter.com/chofitia) and [tumblr](https://chofitia.tumblr.com) if you'd like to talk folklore, FF7, or other nerdy things.


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